The Fraulein

Do I need to specify that just because people have a nazi fetish, or because they think holocaust scenes can be hot, it doesn't mean they are ACTUALLY nazis or are ACTUALLY in favor of genocide? We're all adults, right? We can understand that there is a difference between fantasy and reality. We can agree that the sexy part, the power and humiliation, only works because the horrific parts aren't real, right? That it's still consensual?

With that out of the way... those uniforms are kinda hot, aren't they?

The Fraulein

            She whistles as her boots crunch over the filthy floor. Her walk is casual as she adjusts the black cloth, pushes the gloves down on her fingers, and makes sure the red sash around her bicep is straight, the swastika clearly visible. At the door, she checks to make sure her hair is still held severely up under her hat, straightens her tie, and rolls her neck.

            When she opens the door, he blinks at the light. If he’d really been there as long as they were pretending, he’d be pale, the ribs would be practically shooting out of his skin, and his cheeks would be so sallow that he wouldn’t even look human anymore. Instead, he looked healthy, though she had shaved him completely hairless. He was filthy and shivering from the cold of the bare concrete room. Close enough.

            She steps into the shining light of the door, letting her shadow slink down the room and block the light from his eyes. He looks up at her, seeing no more than her silhouette, though it’s enough even without light glinting from the silver skulls. The light shines on the boots laced up to her knees, over the black pants, and she knows he’s staring at them, at the curves of her feet and the cruel look of the boots.

            “It is time,” she says, her voice a harsh mockery of a German accent. “Your kind must be exterminated, to make room for ze human race.”

            He pushes himself to his feet.

            She punches him in the stomach, the leather of her glove making a nice smacking sound against his bare skin. He doubles over in pain, and she kicks at the back of his knee, sending him back down to the ground with a pained grunt.

            “Do not presume to stand, you disgusting worm.” She says the last word with a v, keeping her voice cold and cruel even while making sure that he hadn’t hit his knees too hard when he fell. “It iz not your place to stand. A man may stand. You are no man.”

            She kicks him, more a nudge with the toe of her boot than anything with real force, but he rolls over and groans anyway as his back touches the cold floor.

            She presses the sole of her boot to his chest, grinding the filthy grit into his skin. She leans forward, her arm across her knee, and watches the wincing agony of his features as the pressure cuts off his breath.

            “You will be taken to ze gas chamber,” she says. “It iz an efficient way to dispose of scum. Are you prepared to die, jew?”

            He opens his mouth to speak, and she spits in it. Then she laughed, as cruelly as she could manage.

            “There iz a vay,” she says, really laying the accent on thick. “You do not need to die, if you are afraid. Are you afraid, little boy? Are you terrified of the big scary girl?” she shakes her head at him, smiling and mocking him. “Why not fight back? Your hands are free. Your feet are free. You are not bound in any way. And yet.” She taps one gloved finger to her chin, as if considering what she’s about to say, “And yet you don’t even struggle. You don’t even squirm like the filthy worm that you are. You don’t try to push me away, you don’t try to escape. You just lay there and accept my foot on your chest. You just lay there and accept that you are worse than the dirt under my shoe.” She grinds her foot a bit on his chest, watching him wince and inhale sharply through tightly clenched teeth.

            “You are accepting that I grind you into the dirt. Perhaps you do know your place.” She takes off her hat and looks at it, inspecting it carefully so he knows that she is ignoring him, that he is inconsequential. “Despite your earlier stupidity, perhaps there is hope for you.”

            She takes her foot off his chest, smiling to herself at the gasp he makes as the full capacity for breathing suddenly rushes back. She wonders briefly if there will be a boot-shaped bruise on his chest. Maybe a harder stomp would make sure of it.

            “Jews are inferior vermin,” she says, turning away from him and pacing around the room. She puts her had back on, her hands behind her back, and keeps her posture ramrod straight. She wants him to feel like she doesn’t consider him a threat, but is ready to hit him again should he even try to get up. “They deserve to be exterminated.” She spins on one heel, then clicks her feet together, facing him. She bends at the waist and stares down at his prone form. “You agree?” she demands, her voice harsher than it had been before.

            He says nothing.

            She bends down, hearing the creak of her boot leather as her ankles stretch. She puts a hand to his throat and squeezes.

            “I asked you a question, little boy,” she says. She rises to her feet, pulling him up. He scrambles to get up with her, and she keeps squeezing his throat. “You will answer.” She slaps him across the face with her free hand. “Tell your Fraulein that you agree.”

            “I agree, Fraulein.” He chokes out the words, barely audible.

            She slaps him again. “Say it.”

            “Jews are inferior vermin,” he says. “And we deserve to be exterminated, Fraulein.”

            She gives him a cruel smile. “So you admit you are less than human?” he nods. “Not worthy of being considered human, or treated as one?” Again, he nods.

            She loosens her grip, just a little bit, enough for him to get a deep breath. “Then you are not an individual. You are just a jew.” And her knee slams up between his legs, pushing out that deep breath. She lets him drop to the floor, clutching his already fading erection as pain jolts through his body.

            “Definitely not a man,” she says. “Tell me, boy. Did you have a bar mitzvah? Did you go through the Jew ritual to become a man?” she shakes her head in disgust. “A pathetic waste of time. You are not a man.” She puts her boot back on his chest, pressing his back to the floor and stopping the agonized roll into the fetal position he had been trying for. “A real man, even a pathetic Jewish one, would not so easily betray his people. He would not so easily denounce himself. He would hold out.” She leans forward again, putting more weight on his chest. “I have not even told you what you have to do to survive, and you are still eager to do it, yes?”

            He coughs out an affirmative response, and she spits on his face again.

            “You are less than vermin,” she says. “There is nothing to you, no value at all. Even that pathetic little thing between your legs, that disgusting worm of flesh; pathetic. Did your mohel cut off too much when you were circumcised? Or were you born with so little that he didn’t have to bother?”

            She takes her foot off him again and steps towards the door. She pats the black cloth of her pants. “Crawl with me,” she says. “If you want to survive, come and be my doggie.”

            She doesn’t look back to see if he follows her, just listens to hear him shuffling along, still trying to get his breath back.

            The grit of the floor must hurt. But she had made sure there was nothing dangerous. She had swept everything clear, making sure he couldn’t injure himself, before laying down the gritty sand she would make him crawl through. He makes soft pained sounds as he crawls, and she smiles.

            “I could take you to the showers,” she says, still laying the German accent on thick. “Would you like that, Jew? Showers have been so useful for your kind. So efficient.”

            “Please no, Fraulein.”

            “No showers?” she asks, feigning surprise. “You are a filthy little shit, aren’t you?”

            “Yes Fraulein. The Jew is a filthy shit.”

            “Still,” she says, taking another few steps towards the only other door in the hallway, “I still must clean you. If you are not going to take showers yourself, perhaps I will need to shower you myself.”

            “Please shower the Jew, Fraulein.”

            She sighs. “I will have to drink more water first,” she says. “I have no need to shower you just now. So you will wait and be filthy.”

            “Yes Fraulein.”

            She pushes open the door and walks into the room. On the table, she picks up the gas mask. She turns around and puts it on him, roughly slapping away the hand that tries to help her. She pulls the straps tight, sure that there’s an airtight seal around his face. She screws in the oxygen tank to let him breathe, then takes a step away.

            “You may stand,” she says. “And you may put your hands behind your back.” She picks up a pair of handcuffs and steps towards him, then stops. She holds them out. “Put these on,” she says.

            She hears him ratchet them closed, and gives him a nasty smirk. Then she turns over the hourglass on the table and shows it to him. “This will take an hour,” she lies. “The tank on your mask will take fifty minutes. You should consider this when you breathe. And you should remember who decides if you live,” she holds up a spare air canister with one hand, “or if you die,” she holds up an empty hand.

            Then she sits in a chair and crosses her legs, her boot bobbing in time to a tune only she can hear.

            “You have until the sand runs out to convince me,” she says. “But no speaking. I don’t want my dog to speak.” She shows him the rest of the table.

            “You see this?” she asks, pointing to a small tub of lard. “This is pig fat. Pork. It is all the lubricant I have.” Next to it, she shows him a huge dildo, already in a strap on harness, black and red like her uniform, the swastika emblem clear as day. “So if you ask me to, I will fuck you like a girl, unclean and with nothing to protect you. And if you ask me nicely,” she gives him an evil grin, “I will even use the lube. I will pump the tref into your body and I will fuck you as you gasp in pleasure, trying not to gasp too much, not to breathe too much.

            “After all,” she says, once again pointing to the extra air tank, “You don’t have the breath to spare.”